


Martin's SAD

by ko_writes



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Doctor Douglas, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Martin Crieff Whump, Re-feeding, Starvation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-17 04:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2295866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ko_writes/pseuds/ko_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin has always had anxiety issues. It has been a terrible week and the events at Qikiqtarjuaq are certainly to blame. Eating disorder in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pathetic

Martin was having a terrible week. The stress of everything was just too much; First that Nancy Dean Liebhart woman stormed into the flight deck, causing him to stammer and basically make a fool of himself; secondly, Douglas forced him to assume a French accent and tell an obviously improvised anecdote about how he ‘once encountered a polar bear in the wild and outwitted it armed only with an egg whisk and a pogo stick’. Luckily, it was a trick and the cabin address wasn’t actually on but he still embarrassed himself in front of Douglas; Thirdly, he almost had a panic attack in front of Douglas and Arthur (In fact, he wasn’t sure if it was actually a panic attack); then, to top it all, he had had a slight (maybe not as ‘slight’ as he would have liked) break down in front of that Nancy Dean Liebhart woman who had decided to tell him in return that there was a lemon taped to his hat! All credit to Douglas for that inspired hiding spot for ‘The Travelling Lemon’!

  
Martin knew that one more embarrassing situation would push him over the edge. He didn’t want to go over the edge! If it wasn’t for the fact that he enjoyed flying, he probably would have told Carolyn where she could shove her flight schedule and stay in his attic all day, under the blanket on his bed, and refuse to come out for the next fifty years! He was an embarrassment! He couldn’t do anything right, he was the victim of constant humiliation and he wasn’t even getting by all that well anymore.  
His heart hammered in his chest. It never calmed when he was in public; he always had a nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him that he was going to embarrass himself and that people thought he was a bumbling idiot; even more so than Arthur – it was a cruel thought and he didn’t want to be cruel to Arthur as he was sweet and caring and just generally brilliant, but the voice in his head was cruel. It was a… fear?… Probably the best way to describe it… of embarrassment and of being judged and scrutinised. Martin hated these feelings as they almost felt painful. They were oppressing to say the least. He always felt like running and hiding, and even crying, when he was humiliated by the crew MJN. But they were almost like family to him and, to be fair, they didn’t realise how the taunts affected him. It was not their fault; they only saw the blush and lack of eye contact. It was his for being so pathetic!

  
How had Carolyn put it? Crippling shyness… Well, that didn’t even begin to describe it. He hated social situations with a passion sometimes; especially small groups, dating, talking to strangers, and interviews. He was fine around the crew at MJN because he had gotten used to them and they were like family to him. He was also pleased that GERTI only sat sixteen; anymore and he would probably end up panicking.

  
He realised that he had reached the airfield now and the taxi came to a halt. He was glad it was a cargo flight today; no more people to worry about.

  
“Oh, hello Martin,” Carolyn acknowledged as the Captain passed her to take his position and run through checks and flight plans and the like. That was when he saw it. People approaching GERTI! He frantically scanned the airfield in search of another plane that they could be approaching instead of GERTI, but had no such luck. “Oh, that’s right. Change of plan. We are now escorting a hen party as they were willing to pay more and it has the opportunity for repeat bookings; so, at the last minute, I dropped the cargo flight and agreed to take these girls to Las Vegas. Are you quite alright Martin?”

  
No he wasn’t ‘alright’! He was paper white and had started sweating; feeling ill and fighting the instinct to curl into a little ball and cry! Luckily he suppressed the shaking he could feel wanting to come out; crossing his arms tightly in front of his chest. “Fine… Fine. I’m fine.” Well that was believable. Carolyn gave him a scrutinising glance. Oh God, would she stop judging him?!

  
Carolyn sighed. She didn’t believe him but they needed to take off soon and didn’t have time for this. “Very well. Go do the job I pay you to do instead of idly chatting.”  
“You don’t pay me…” Martin mumbled under his breath. Oh God, had he said that out loud?! A crimson blush crept its way to his cheeks but he soon strode away to GERTI to avoid Carolyn seeing.

  
“There you are, Martin. Glad you decided to show,” Douglas smiled smugly.

  
“Y-Yes, w-well; I got… got caught up t-talking to… to Carolyn…” Martin stuttered. There were roars and hoots from the passengers already, oh no. His heart began to beat even faster.

  
“Are you alright?” Another scrutinising glance. What was wrong with people today?!

  
“F-Fine. Fine. Absolutely fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” He was such an idiot.

  
“Are you sure, Captain?” Douglas didn’t believe a word of it. Martin was obviously dishevelled, very pale, sheen of sweat was across his brow and he was stuttering even more than usual.

  
“Y-Yes. Fine. I’m fine.”

  
Thank God for Arthur! He came bounding in, cheerful as always. “Coffee chaps!” He smiled. Oh, how Martin wished he could be like Arthur sometimes; always happy, always chipper. How Martin envied him.

  
“I-I’m f-fine, thank y-you, Arthur,” Martin declined the coffee; Caffeine tended to make him feel worse and quickening his speeding heart even more.

  
“You ok, Skip?” Arthur tilted his head to the side, much like a small child would.

  
“Apparently, he’s fine. Or, to quote our dear captain, he’s ‘F-Fine. Fine. Absolutely fine’,” Douglas answered for him.

  
“It doesn’t sound like he’s fine, Douglas…” Arthur frowned.

  
Douglas took a deep breath. Patient. Patient when dealing with Arthur. “No, I didn’t think so.”

  
“J-Just shut up! I-I am fine!” Martin was making a fool of himself.

  
“What’s all this racket about?!” Carolyn entered the flight deck.

  
“Apparently, Martin is ‘F-Fine. Fine. Absolutely fine’…” Douglas and Carolyn gave him scrutinising looks again and Arthur stared.

  
“You really don’t look fine, Martin…” Carolyn began. Martin stopped listening. He couldn’t concentrate as his heart was fluttering in his chest and he felt like he couldn’t breathe!  
A few moments passed of Martin attempting to look normal; folding his arms tightly in front of his chest to try and hide the shaking. But then he felt a God-awful pain in his chest. It felt like someone had stabbed his heart with a knife and continued to twist. He clutched at his chest. He couldn’t breathe! He was going to die! He shook and kept shaking, he couldn’t stop! He needed help!

  
“Martin? Martin? Look at me!” Douglas was sounding uncharacteristically concerned. He fought to open his eyes against the pain.

  
“H-hurts… C-can’t… B-breathe…” Martin struggled.

  
“Call an ambulance,” Douglas ordered Carolyn. On any other day, at any other time, Martin would have found it funny. She left quickly, seeing the urgency of the situation; young men should not have chest pain.

  
“What’s happening to Skip?!” Arthur was obviously distressed.

  
“He’s having a severe panic attack. Go wait in the galley; the less people, the better. Inform the passengers there’s been a change of plan. We aren’t going to Las Vegas; Martin needs to go to hospital.”

  
“But –”

  
“Arthur, I may be wrong but my track record shows I’m probably right. If it’s what I think it is; Martin needs as few people as possible. So – Code red!” This was probably the only time in his life that Douglas didn’t want to be right.

  
Arthur ran out of the room; only to stumble into a young woman wearing a short dress and a sash which read ‘Maid of Honour’. She pushed past Arthur into the flight deck. “No! Wait! You can’t –!” but it was too late. The lady was gone.

  
“Excuse me, but we’ve been waiting for a long time! What do you call this?! A –” She stopped in her tracks when she saw Martin. He was shaking, sweating and… crying.  
“An emergency madam, yes.” Douglas supplied in a snide comment. Martin looked up. Oh God, he hadn’t seen her there! He was embarrassing himself again! He was an embarrassment, a clot, a –

  
Before he could finish his thought of self-loathing; his flight instinct took over. He tumbled off of his chair and scrambled to the furthest corner he could find with his brain fogged with desperation and fear. He curled in on himself. The woman was staring. She was judging. Why? Why? Why do people do that?!

  
“I hate to be rude madam but get out! Get out!” Douglas shouted, his usual calm slipped for a moment, but it was soon recovered. He ran to Martin side. “It’s ok; it’s going to be alright… Breathe, Martin.”

  
“C-c-can’t,” Martin sobbed.

  
“Follow me; we need to stop you hyperventilating. In for five…” Douglas took a deep breath, Martin tried to follow but it ended in choking and sobbing from frustration.

  
“Nearly, come on captain, you can do this. In for five.” Martin followed Douglas, managing this time. They held their breath for two seconds before Douglas instructed “Out for five.” Martin followed Douglas again. “Ok, we’re going to do that again. In for five,” Martin followed again. “And out for five. Very good, Martin,” It wasn’t even a sarcastic ‘very good’.

  
“I-I-I…” The captain stuttered.

  
“Don’t talk. We’re going to try breathing normally now. Focus on breathing, Martin.” Martin tried to do as he was told; but then the pain sharpened. He grabbed hold of his chest.  
Carolyn’s head appeared through the door. “They said the ambulance will be here soon. How’s Martin?”

  
“He was getting better. It’s ok, Martin. Breathe. I know it hurts. Is the pain getting worse?” Martin nodded. His chest was so tight and painful. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Douglas refrained from touching him; if it was what he thought it was, it would only make matters worse. “Close the door. Let no one in apart from the paramedics. We’ve already had one unwelcome visitor, which is why we’re now in the corner. Tell the paramedics that it is a suspected S.A.D attack. They’ll know what procedure to follow.”

  
“S.A.D?” Carolyn questioned.

  
“No time. Just do as I ask.”

  
“Understood.”

  
“I-It… H-hurts…” Martin struggled between sobs and laboured breaths.

  
“I know; it’s going to be fine. Just focus on breathing and my voice. The paramedics will be here soon,” Martin took a hitched breath and couldn’t help but let out a frustrated sob. Why couldn’t he just breathe?! Why was he being so pathetic?! “Martin, I’m going to take your pulse. Is that alright?”

  
Martin didn’t want to be touched, but he also understood that it needed to be done; so he reluctantly nodded.

  
Douglas only ghosted his fingertips over Martin’s pulse and could feel it was way too jumpy. “Martin, I need you to try your best to take some deep breaths. Your pulse is too fast and you need to slow it before you go into cardiac arrest. Can you answer these questions for me; just nod your head, ok?” Martin nodded. “Are you feeling nauseous?”

  
Martin nodded slightly. Douglas grabbed the bin nearby in case the nausea got worse.

  
“Are you dizzy? Light-headed?”

  
Another nod. “H-help. N-need… C-control… G-going… C-crazy…!”

  
“It’s alright, Captain. Just breathe. Are you feeling cold? Are you feeling hot?”

  
Martin shook his head.

  
“Do you feel a tingling sensation?”

  
Martin nodded. “F-fingertips…”

  
“It’s ok; that’s normal. Do you want me to put my arm around you?”

  
Martin shook his head.

  
“That’s fine. Don’t worry.”

  
The sound of sirens approached the plane. They were finally here. “Martin, the paramedics will be here in a little while. I need you to try and remain calm. Carolyn will tell them what they need to know.”

  
Martin nodded.

  
Before Martin knew it, he was in the ambulance with an oxygen mask covering his face and wires were attached to him with sticky pads. Douglas was there, but kept his distance. He just kept assuring Martin that everything was ok when the machine he was hooked up to began to beep quicker; following Martin’s heart rate.

  
“We need to sedate him,” one of the paramedics informed Douglas, “Do we have consent?”

  
“Of course,” Douglas answered.

  
Martin was stabbed in his arm with a needle; the rest of the ambulance ride was black.


	2. Diagnosis

The room Martin woke up in was a bright white and he could hear the sounds of distant machines in the background. “Oh good, you’re awake,” Douglas addressed.

  
“How are you feeling, Skip?” Arthur asked, slightly more subdued than normal.

  
“Please don’t say fine; we know you aren’t,” Carolyn added.

  
“Weak… Like a-a sledge hammer hit me in the chest…” Martin struggled, raising a shaking hand to his head. “What… What happened?”

  
“You had a severe panic attack. Don’t worry; it’s normal to feel like that after one…” Douglas informed, lacking his usual superiority. Oh no. Martin’s cheeks became a deep red colour. “It’s not embarrassing, Captain. You didn’t have control over it…”

  
“I always have control!”

  
“Martin, it’s fine. You didn’t embarrass yourself. You need to calm down,” Douglas instructed.

  
“It’s alright, Skip,” Before Douglas could stop him, Arthur put a hand on Martin’s arm. The captain retracted his hand as if it had been burned. “Skip?”

  
“Arthur, I told you what I thought was wrong when we came in; I told you not to do that,” Douglas sighed.

  
“W-what do you think is wrong?” Martin stuttered.

  
“We should really wait until the doctor confirms it before I fill your head with theories. I’m guessing you haven’t been diagnosed yet.”

  
“Just tell me, Douglas!” Martin sighed.

  
“Very well. From what I’ve noticed during our time together; I think you may have a condition known as S.A.D or Social Anxiety Disorder,” Douglas informed.

  
“S-see, I knew I-I had something like that. I-I knew what I-I feel isn’t normal!” Martin stuttered.

  
“It should be fine, Martin. Usually medication and psychotherapy help. I’m… sorry for what happened on the last flight. It was cruel,” Douglas apologised.

  
“You… You didn’t know,” Martin sighed.

  
“It was still cruel,” Douglas sighed.

  
“W-well, thank you for the a-apology,” Martin stuttered.

  
Just in the nick of time, a doctor entered the room, “Ah, Douglas, my good man,” he addressed.

  
“Jeffery. How nice to see you,” Douglas clasped the doctor’s hand.

  
“I hear you made a diagnosis. I’m testing it as a favour to you, Douglas. We are now even.”

  
“If we have to be. Martin, this is Dr Jeffery Goodman. He’s going to give you the evaluation.”

  
“N-no. I-I don’t… don’t want t-to be any… any trouble…” Martin stammered.

  
“You aren’t any trouble, Mr Crieff. Douglas says that you’ve had anxiety issues since he’s known you; which, according to him, is quite a few years. Have you had panic attacks before?”

  
“N-nothing like… like t-this. I-I had a… a small one a-a few days ago. W-we were f-flying over Q-Q-Qikiqtarjuaq. D-Douglas almost… almost k-killed us –”

  
“I did not almost kill us.”

  
“Y-you did! G-GERTI wasn’t a-at altitude! S-she almost s-stalled!”

  
“And, in hindsight, the attack wasn’t small. You were yelling, saying that I was going to kill us, and then you were screaming in terror. You were breathing very heavily as well…”

  
“Y-yes! Fine! S-stop humiliating me as… as always!”

  
“Please calm down, Mr Crieff. If Douglas is correct; these feelings are totally normal.”

  
“It’s alright, Skip. It isn’t embarrassing; I’ve done loads of things more embarrassing than that!” Arthur smiled, trying to make light of the situation.

  
“B-but I’m… I-I’m better than… than that. It’s… It’s pathetic. I-I’m pathetic. Having a… a panic attack b-because my… my co-workers were… were staring at me. I-I’m so pathetic!”

  
“No, you aren’t, Skip! You’re brilliant!” Arthur remembered not to stare, so he looked away, “Douglas told me a little about it and you’re really strong and brave to come to work and talk to passengers and do… well… just be brilliant!”

  
“I think that is the wisest thing you’ve ever said, Arthur,” Carolyn gasped.

  
“Really?!” Arthur beamed.

  
“Y-yes. Thank… Thank you, Arthur.”

  
“If we could leave the touching personal revelations aside for the moment; I need to carry out the evaluation…” Dr Goodman interrupted.

  
“Sensitive bedside manner as always, Jeffery,” Douglas muttered, “We should go. Let’s get some coffee from the canteen and leave Martin to it. We’ll be back in a little while, Martin.”

  
“Y-yes. Ok.”

  
…

  
“Yuck!” Arthur shouted, taking a slip of the gritty brown liquid the hospital passed for coffee.

  
Douglas swallowed his mouthful with displeasure, throwing the rest in the bin. “I quite agree…”

  
“I’m so glad I didn’t order any; I can tell how horrible it is by the smell!” Carolyn smirked.

  
“Douglas…” Arthur began.

  
“Yes, Arthur?”

  
“What if Skip does have D.S.A?”

  
“First of all, it’s S.A.D; secondly, nothing much will change. Martin may be calmer and more content, though; but I’m sure we’ll survive that,” Douglas smiled.

  
“So, he’ll still be able to fly GERTI?” Arthur beamed.

  
“If Carolyn allows it.”

  
“Of course I’ll allow it! Martin is our friend and I wouldn’t want another pilot.”

  
“It’s settled then. Martin will improve and continue flying GERTI; and we’ll try and make his life as stress-less as possible. I don’t like his living situation, though. It is an attic after all. He’s continually stressed about rent and his ‘man-with-a-van’ job. We should try and come up with a solution.” Douglas thought out loud.

  
“You’re always saying that your daughter stays in your spare room when she visits; with isn’t very often anymore. Why can’t Skip stay with you? You know what to do if he has a panic attack, too,” Arthur suggested.

  
“That’s a very intelligent solution Arthur…” Douglas gasped.

  
“Really?! Again?!” Arthur was having a lucky day by the looks of things.

  
“Well, if it wasn’t for Martin. S.A.D is social Anxiety Disorder, remember? It would be uncomfortable for him to share living space with someone…”

  
“But you’re in the flight deck together a lot. And Martin could stay in his room if he was having a bad day…” That wasn’t usually one to come up with intelligent plans like this, but today was obviously his day.

  
“That is true… I’ll offer, but Martin will probably decline,” Douglas agreed.

  
“I really hope Skip will be ok…” Arthur sighed, seeming a little deflated.

  
“He will be, Arthur. You know Martin, he’s always fine in the end,” Douglas comforted. Carolyn and Arthur both had a look of shock on their faces. Douglas was being comforting and compassionate. “Oh, don’t look at me like that! Let’s stay a little while longer and then get back to Martin.”

  
“Agreed,” approved Carolyn. Arthur only nodded.

  
…

  
“So… H-how did I d-do?” Martin stuttered. His eyes were wider than usual, nervous for the result; even though it was probably the correct diagnosis. Douglas was always right, after all; as he kept reminding everyone.

  
“Well, Mr Crieff. You scored ninety four out of a hundred, which means there is a very high chance that you have Social Anxiety. We can put you on Beta blockers and Benzodiazepines to ease the symptoms and therapy will help if you wish to attend sessions. I can get you some literature on your condition if you wish.”

  
Martin nodded silently, taking a moment to process the diagnosis. He had always known he had some sort of anxiety problem, but he now had a proper diagnosis and treatment options… Wait… How on earth was he going to afford all this?

  
Before he could work himself up too much; Douglas, Arthur and Carolyn entered the room. “Any news, Skip?” asked Arthur, anxiously.

  
“Apparently, I scored a ninety four on the test –”

  
“Wow! Skip! I couldn’t even imagine getting ninety four marks in a test! Well done!” Arthur beamed proudly. It made Martin feel awful; he really did not want to correct Arthur and tell him that it was a bad thing to score high marks in a test like this. Luckily, he didn’t have to as Douglas stepped in.

  
“Unfortunately Arthur, this isn’t a test you want to score high on. That means Martin has a very high likelihood of having S.A.D.”

  
“Oh,” Arthur was returned back to low spirits.

  
“Arthur, it’s fine. I’m exactly the same as I always have been; but now I know what’s wrong with me, they can fix it. I’ll be calm for once in my life…”

  
“Too true, Martin. Has the doctor explained it all to you?” Carolyn asked.

  
“He’s getting some leaflets or something for me now. He said I’ll be put on Beta blockers and something called Benzodiazepines, whatever they are.”

  
Talk of the devil and he’ll appear; the doctor strode into the room and handed Martin the various laminated booklets on S.A.D the hospital possessed. “I wish to discuss the medication with you, Mr Crieff; but another matter has arisen. Your weight, to be exact. You’re actually bordering the severely underweight bracket. These medications have been known to have weight-loss as a side effect which is not very good for a man in your condition. I suggest we keep you admitted for a little while to get you back to a more ideal weight and then consider release then. I have to ask, Mr Crieff; are you suffering from an eating disorder?”

  
“N-no, I don’t. I… I’m trying t-to save some m-money…” Martin spluttered, cheeks red.

  
Carolyn, it is fair to say, was horrified. “What do you mean?”

  
“I-I… Uh… I’m n-not very… w-well off. I-I only eat when I-I really need to; saving m-money on f-food.”

  
“Oh skip…” Arthur gasped. The three now noticed how thin his arms were, even if they were toned and muscular; and how his small frame was lost in the hospital gown.

  
“C-can you… not…” The crew realised they had been staring and rectified that immediately.

  
“Well, now that unpleasant matter is dealt with for the moment; I will discuss the medication with you and we can make a treatment plan,” the doctor interrupted.

  
Martin only nodded.


	3. Weight gain

“Arthur, don’t just storm in…” Carolyn called after his son. But Arthur was already running to the captain. It had been two weeks since Martin’s diagnosis – since then they had to fly to Alaska for a week, only to arrive back that mourning – and Arthur wanted to be there for the captain.

  
“Oh, hello Arthur. How are you?” Martin smiled. He wasn’t in a hospital gown; just comfortable jeans and a t-shirt. A discarded jumper lay over the back of one of the chairs in the room.

  
“You’re looking much better, Skip!”

  
“I’m feeling better, actually. I’m not stuttering as much when the nurses talk to me and I’ve been less anxious. It feels…” Martin tried to find an adequate word to describe it.

  
“Brilliant?” Arthur supplied.

  
Martin laughed a little, “Yes, I guess does.”

  
It was at that this point Carolyn and Douglas caught up with Arthur. “Douglas, Carolyn! Nice to see you! How are you?” Martin continued to smile slightly.

  
“I’m fine; you’re looking… calm, Martin,” Douglas stated.

  
“I feel it. I’m stuttering less and I don’t feel like I’m going to have a heart attack. Good signs, in my opinion,” Martin informed.

  
“That’s very good…” Douglas agreed.

  
“It really is. How was the flight to…?”

  
“Alaska. It went as well as usual; it was only a routine flight. What have you been doing with yourself?” Carolyn asked.

  
“Nothing much. It’s terribly boring around here; there’s nothing to do. I’ve had my first psychotherapy visit; which wasn’t great, admittedly. It was quite patronising…”

  
“How so?” Douglas asked.

  
“We… Promise you won’t laugh…”

  
“God, why on earth would I laugh? This is needed for your recovery Martin; and I’m not that terrible, despite what you say…” Douglas explained in a clipped tone, none of his usual sarcasm in sight.

  
“Alright, I’m sorry. I had to do role-play exercises…” The second part, Martin mumbled under his breath; he felt humiliated when taking part in those exercises.

  
“Nothing to be ashamed of. It’s perfectly normal in psychotherapy…” Douglas dismissed with a wave of his hand.

  
Martin gave him a scrutinising glance before he broke out into a smile. “Who are you and what have you done with Douglas?” Martin joked.

  
A knock at the door pulled Martin out of his jokes. He was less stressed and panicked as usual, however; which was good. “Captain Crieff? I’m here to take you to Dr Stevens’ office…” The young blonde nurse stated with a small smile.

  
“Finally convinced people to call you captain, Martin?” Douglas raised an eyebrow.

  
“A-actually, we were making small talk and Nurse Smith asked me what I did for a living. When I said that I am captain of an aeroplane; she started calling me ‘Captain Crieff’ and hasn’t stopped since.”

  
“Forgive me my one weakness,” the nurse smiled smugly, “While this has been lovely, I’m afraid Dr Stevens will have my head if I don’t get you to her soon.”

  
“That time already? O-ok. I’ll be there soon…” Martin smiled slightly. The nurse smiled in reply as she ducked back through the door.

  
“Dr Stevens is…” Carolyn began.

  
“My nutritionist. I have to go for my weigh in. Not very happy about that…” Martin realised he had been babbling a little – though not much – and blushed slightly.

  
“Ah. Well, don’t let us keep you. We’ll be here when you get back. If you feel comfortable giving us an update…” Carolyn’s voice tapered off.

  
“Understood, Carolyn. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  
As Martin left the room; Carolyn turned to Douglas. “He seems to have put some weight on; which is good…”

  
“He’s not out of the woods yet, though. That’s the problem with starving yourself; even if it isn’t an eating disorder or self-harm. It will be long and hard. We have to be here for Martin, for his S.A.D as well as the weight gain.”

  
“Skip will be fine though, won’t he? You said he would!” Arthur gasped.

  
“Arthur, he will. But it may take some time to get there. We just need to support our dear captain…” Douglas stated. Arthur and Carolyn nodded in synchronisation.

  
…

  
The scales were cold on Martin’s bare feet. It was uncomfortable and awkward as he had to remove his jeans, according to the doctor. Nurse Smith tried to ease the tension with a joke; saying that was her excuse to see a dashing captain without his trousers. It didn’t help all that much, but Martin appreciated the thought.

  
The scales beeped, and Dr Stevens glanced at the reading. “Weight gain of 2kg. Not bad Mr Crieff; Well within adequate weight gain for the time frame.” She stated, scribbling notes in her notebook. It was outdated, yes; but it helped her remember so she could type up the data after seeing her patient.

  
Martin felt something, almost like an itch, at the back of his mind. He felt… unusual when the doctor remarked upon his weight gain. He couldn’t work out why.

  
“That’s all for now, if you want to go back to your friends. I wouldn’t object to you staying here if you think it’s a bit much, though. I still have to write up your notes before seeing the next patient…” The doctor stated matter-of-factly.

  
“What did I tell you?” Nurse Smith murmured to Martin with a smug grin. She actually reminded him of Douglas.

  
“Nurse Smith…” Dr Stevens began, “Why don’t you go make yourself useful for a change?”

  
“Of course, doctor.” With a playful, secret roll of her eyes to Martin, she was gone.

  
“I-I think I shall go back to my room now, i-if I may have my jeans back,” Martin stated, attempting humour. The jeans were handed to him and he left after putting them back on.

  
The annoying, itching feeling wouldn’t leave him, though. It was like hearing whispers that he couldn’t distinguish. Twisted thoughts with no ability to be understood. He would try and make sense of them later; now he just wanted to see Carolyn, Arthur and (God help him) Douglas.


	4. The Minnesota Experiment

Martin stared in horror. What had he done? He’d only meant to have something small! Not 7 chocolate biscuits, two apples, three slices of bread and three packets of crisps from the kitchen! It was disgusting… How could he do that?!

  
Martin scrambled to his feet and bolted towards the bathroom. He’s never done this before? What is he supposed to do?! He knelt before the toilet and shoved two fingers into his mouth, searching for the gag reflex. He apparently found it as, before long, he was staring at the mess that was once food.

  
The captain began to cry. Why had he lost control like that? Why did it take him so long to even realise what he was doing? Martin let his head rest against the cubicle. He wanted Douglas and Arthur and Carolyn to be with him, telling him it was alright, and support him like they had been these last few weeks.

  
Martin felt so disgusting and desperate. He shuffled back to his room, after cleaning himself up, and flipped open his cheap mobile phone. He saw the time; half two in the morning. Why had he felt the need to eat something now anyway?

  
His thumb wavered over the call button. He didn’t want to disturb Douglas, but he needed someone and felt awkward calling his boss directly at this time. He pressed the button down and held the device to his ear. Hot tears rolled down his cheek.

  
It rang a few times but, finally, a croaky “hello?” greeted him.

  
“D-D-Douglas…” Martin sobbed.

  
“Martin? Is that you? You shouldn’t really have your phone on in the hospital…”

  
“Douglas, I need you to come over… I need to talk to someone who isn’t a doctor trying to analyse me. I need a friend,” Martin continued to sob. His words were shaky and broken… How ironic.

“What’s the matter Martin? What happened?”

  
“I-I-I was i-in the kitchen; I-I wanted a-a-a snack. I-I-I binged. I-I-I c-couldn’t control myself. I-I-I p-purged t-too. H-help…” Martin couldn’t control the crying anymore.

  
“Hold tight Martin; I’ll be there soon. I’ll call in a favour and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  
“H-h-hurry…”

  
Douglas hung up. He knew he had to be quick. He got dressed and dialled the number for one of his ‘friends’ while he ran to the car. Martin was in a lot of distress and it was urgent to get there soon.

  
…

  
When Douglas found Martin in his room; his captain was curled in on himself in a tight ball. He was shaking and sobbing. Douglas ran to his side. “It’s alright Martin. I’m here now. It’s alright.”

  
“N-no, i-i-it isn’t. I-it’s disgusting. I-I-I’m disgusting,” Martin sobbed.

  
“This happens Martin. That’s why you need us. Me, Carolyn, Arthur; we’re going to help you get better. We need you, captain.” Martin grabbed Douglas and forced him into a hug. The older man stiffened at first, but relaxed soon enough. Martin sobbed into Douglas’ shoulder.

  
“I-I-I c-couldn’t help it. I-I-I lost c-control…” Martin mumbled.

  
“It’s not unheard of, Martin. It’s not you being disgusting, or weak, or however you feel right now. It happens to quite a few people during re-feeding. It’s tough. Have you ever heard of the Minnesota Experiment?” Martin shook his head into Douglas’ shoulder. “In the nineteen forties; volunteers went through a period of semi-starvation and a period of re-feeding. Quite a few of these men went through what you’re going through now. You need some rest, to talk to your friends and doctors, and to not punish yourself for it. It’s normal. You are definitely not disgusting.”

  
“That’s what it was…” Martin mumbled.

  
“What what was, Martin?”

  
“The other day… The doctor said I put on two kilos and I felt absolutely awful; not happy, like I thought I should be…”

  
“Oh, Martin,” Douglas held him closer. Martin’s anxiety was lost in shame and the comfort Douglas was giving him. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk to Carolyn, Arthur and Dr Stevens tomorrow. We’ll soon get you better…”

  
“Thank you…” Martin whispered before his sore eyes drifted shut. It was going to be a long night for Douglas.


	5. The morning

Carolyn strolled into the small hospital room. She had managed to keep Arthur to heel by threatening that they would turn around and go back home if he didn’t behave – it wasn’t true, of course; but it made Arthur show a little restraint.

  
Her eyes locked on the figure beside the bed. “Douglas?” She questioned.

  
“Keep your voice down. He’s had a rough night and has only just gone back to sleep peacefully.” Douglas replied.

  
“Why are you here so early? When did you get here?” Carolyn interrogated.

  
“I’ve been here since three this morning; as to why, Martin should be able to tell you himself. It’s not my place to say.”

  
“Douglas, what’s wrong with Skip?” Arthur’s voice was about an octave lower than usual and quiet.

  
“He should have the right to tell him yourself when he wakes up. It’s been a long night.” Douglas sighed, rubbing his tired eyes.

  
“Well, if you aren’t going to tell us, I suppose we’ll just wait for Martin…” Carolyn carefully approached the hospital bed. She gently ran her hand through Martin’s ginger curls but he flinched away from her touch. “You silly boy. Why didn’t you say something about your money worries? I had no idea it was this bad…”

  
“You know how he is. He’s so proud and he doesn’t know when to admit he isn’t alright…” Douglas sighed.

  
“Silly boy…” She sighed with a sad smile on her lips. Martin looked somewhat peaceful in his sleep, she couldn’t help realise; there was no stress deepening his frown lines and the heavy weight of his world seemed to be off his shoulders. He looked untroubled.

  
“Let’s go get something from the canteen; I haven’t eaten yet…” Douglas suggested. Before Arthur could ask, he cut in, “no, Arthur. We are definitely not getting coffee.”

  
With that decision, they left the sleeping captain.

  
…

  
Martin had a fitful night’s sleep. His anxiety was coming back because he threw up his medication and he was stressed and embarrassed and ashamed by what he had done.  
If he’d told someone, he might not have had to resort to starving himself. He would be out of the hospital by now and back on GERTI. If only he could have set his, all too big, sense of pride aside for his own wellbeing. Now, instead of flying miles above the ground with an intimidating CEO turned stewardess, a hyperactive (yet brilliant) steward and sky-God first officer; he was still lying in the small, uncomfortable bed with the smell of bleach all around. If only he’d taken care of himself a bit more, he wouldn’t be having these issues. He’d damaged his mind; not his intellect or memory, or anything like that, but his oh so delicate psyche. He had done something that was damaging in so many ways.

  
Douglas knew it was more serious than he let on; he wouldn’t have told him about some experiment with ‘semi-starvation’ if he thought it was only missing a meal every now and again. Who was he kidding? Of course they knew. No one gets this thin and sickly only missing the occasional meal. That is why people often thought he had an eating disorder. He looked the part, at least. He had pushed himself over the edge; the thought of weight-gain horrified him and he had done that to himself.

  
He just needed to get better. But what is better? He’ll never be better. He’s messed himself up too much.

  
Martin opened his eyes. He looked a mess. He was sweating, bone-thin, shaking; the poster-boy for ill health. He wrapped his arms around himself, managing to sit up. He looked to the ceiling and closed his eyes; he prayed, for the first time in years, to what-ever deity there was, to make him better. He wanted to be better. He was tearing himself to pieces at high speed, like a rocket trapped on the launch-pad. Shaking, crashing, self-destructing. God, he needed help. Sobs wracked his skeletal body, tears forced themselves free, his heart felt like it was cracking and crumbling on its own accord.

  
The door to Martin’s room creaked open and Douglas appeared at the door frame. The light from outside entered the dark room tracing the first officer’s silhouette on the floor. He looked like an angel from cheesy Hollywood films. “Oh God! Martin! I’m sorry, I went to get breakfast with Carolyn and Arthur!” Douglas ran to Martin’s side and the shorter man wrapped his arms around Douglas. “Shh, it’s alright…” Douglas ran a hand through Martin’s hair.

  
“N-no, i-it isn’t. I-I-I can’t b-believe I’ve d-done this too m-myself… I-I-I should have t-told someone.”

  
Douglas rubbed small circles on Martin’s back. “I’m not going to sugar-coat it. You should have told us. We could have helped. It wouldn’t have gotten to this point.”

  
“I-I-I know. W-Why didn’t I j-just tell you?” Martin sobbed into Douglas’ chest.

  
“You were embarrassed and you didn’t want to admit how bad it was. I can understand that… But you trust me enough to not act like I burn you with my touch, like you do everyone else; even Arthur and Carolyn. You could have trusted me with that too.”

  
“I… I…”

  
“Shh, it’s all fine. We’ll get you better. You just need to let us help you,” Martin nodded in response. “Speaking of which, do you want to tell Arthur and Carolyn what happened now? I haven’t told them what happened yet.”

  
“Ok,” was Martin’s sheepish reply.

  
“Carolyn, Arthur; you can come in now,” Douglas called, only just loud enough for the pair outside of the door to hear.

  
The two entered timidly. “Hello Martin,” Carolyn greeted, “Would you like the light on?”

  
“Y-yes, p-please.” The room was illuminated on his reply.

  
“Are you ok, Skip?” Arthur asked. His smile was different to usual; not bright and sunny, but reined in and with an air of sadness.

  
“No. No, I-I don’t think so.” Martin shook his head, “I guess you want to know what happened last night…”

  
“Not if you don’t want to tell us,” Carolyn explained.

  
“No, I need to tell you.” Martin took a deep breath. He knew this would upset Arthur because, although he was a grown man, he was still quite naïve and the thought of what his captain had done the night before would no doubt upset him. “Right… Ok… Right…”

  
“Start at the beginning Martin; it’s alright, they’ll understand. I promise,” Douglas whispered.

  
“Last night. I-I was i-in the kitchen a-and I had g-gone in there t-to get something small to eat. I-I don’t know what happened b-but…” Martin dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his itching, bloodshot eyes. “I-I-I binged. I-I lost c-control. I-I-I realised what… what I did and ran t-to the b-bathroom a-and I purged. I-I felt awful a-and disgusting a-and sick. I-I called D-Douglas because I-I didn’t want t-to bother you. I-I-I’m sorry. I should have t-told you I was starving myself before. I… I was upset a-and disturbed when the doctor said I-I’d gained t-two kilos. I-I wanted t-to curl i-into a little b-ball and d-disappear…” More sobs made their way to the surface.

  
“Oh Martin…” Carolyn gasped.

  
“What does purging mean?” Arthur asked, in a way much like a child would.

  
“I-it m-means I made my-myself sick…” Martin sobbed.

  
“Oh, Skip… Why did you do that?” Arthur asked. His innocence looked as if it was being torn from him.

  
“I-I-I ate t-too much. I-I-I felt d-disgusting. I-I needed t-to get rid of it. I-I-I couldn’t help it!” Martin sobbed.

  
“Arthur, let’s go talk about this outside. I’ll try and explain,” Carolyn offered. Arthur nodded, eyes wide with shock.

  
They left Martin in Douglas’ arms to cry himself out while they had a very adult conversation about things like Anorexia and Bulimia to try and get her son to understand. Martin was their friend and he needed support, not questions. Carolyn made it clear that it was probably Martin being emotional and having difficulty with the re-feeding like Douglas had warned. They needed to be there for Martin’s sake. For their dearest captain.


	6. Lunch and greasy chips

Martin ran a hand through his ginger curls. Lunch with Carolyn, Douglas and Arthur. He’d already decided what to order. He couldn’t choose a salad, with in all honesty was what he wanted, they would think he wasn’t trying; he couldn’t choose anything like fish and chips because he knew how that would end, and it wasn’t exactly pretty or pleasant.

  
He’d told Dr Stevens about what was happening and also told Dr Thompson, his psychotherapist; Douglas supporting him all the way, which was a very strange feeling.

Treatment was going ok, a bit rough and there had been occasions when it all got too much and he purged; but it often only took a phone call to Douglas to calm him down.

  
It was fair to say that Arthur’s view of the world seemed to be a bit less bright than it had been before Carolyn explained what Martin had done to himself. He wasn’t even that cheery when visiting Martin anymore, but that should pass after Martin gets better; or so Martin hoped.

  
Carolyn kept sneaking homemade biscuits into Martin’s room to try and tempt him to eat something willingly with the logic of ‘hospital food is disgusting and these aren’t; you should give them a try’. It was a nice thought, though; it wasn’t Carolyn’s fault that he felt this way – besides, he should probably stick to the nutritionist’s diet plan (he was ever the one for protocol and regulations).

  
Marin slipped his, slightly-less-baggy-than-they-had-been-a-few-weeks-ago, jeans passed his hips and pulled on a clean shirt, after getting out of his pyjamas. He leaned on the bedside table and let out a harsh, controlled breath. He needed to be in the air, flying; and he needed to now.

  
A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. “Come in,” Martin called. He already knew it was Douglas, Carolyn and Arthur.

  
“Hello, Martin. You’re looking well…” Douglas began before he was cut off by a huff from Martin. Arthur frowned and Carolyn internally sighed.

  
“Do you want to go down now?” Carolyn asked, trying not to stare at Martin’s shaking hands or the purple smudges under his eyes.

  
“I guess,” Martin shrugged.

  
“Come on, then,” Carolyn smiled, maternal instincts kicking in.

  
Arthur looked rather deflated, which was becoming more and more of a regular occurrence; and, for that, Martin felt horrible. “I’m fine, Arthur,” Martin tried to comfort.

  
“I know you aren’t,” Arthur muttered darkly, “so don’t even try to lie to me.”

  
Martin, doing his best to push passed his SAD, hesitantly drew Arthur in for a quick hug, only for a second of two. “Arthur, look at me.” Arthur hesitated for a second before sighing and complying with the captain. “Why have you been so upset, lately? Do you even know?”

  
“You’re here. You shouldn’t be. You should be on GERTI with us. Not making yourself sick…” Arthur muttered; the last part rather bitterly.

  
“I agree. I’m going insane, locked in here instead of flying. Flying, as you all know, is all I’ve really wanted to do. I’m trying my best to get better, but it’s very hard. I’ll be released once I gain a few more kilos, apparently; so I can go back to you, and your mum, and Douglas, and GERTI, then,” Martin smiled frailly, “Remember the polar bears? They were brilliant, weren’t they?”

  
“Yeah…” A small smile invaded Arthur’s features, as he thought of polar bears, which grew a little wider every few seconds.

  
“Come on, let’s go to the canteen. Their coffee might be awful, but the hot chocolate isn’t bad; from what I remember…” Martin smiled slightly.

  
“Arthur, Carolyn; you go ahead. Martin and I will catch up,” Douglas instructed. Carolyn nodded and shepherded Arthur out of the room.

  
“Hey,” Martin acknowledged.

  
“Hey,” Douglas smiled back.

  
After a moment of heavy silence, Martin sighed, “What is it, Douglas?”

  
“Two things really; both rather… Awkward…”

  
“Don’t worry, you’ve been helping me, so I won’t get offended.”

  
Douglas let out a humour-less huff of laughter, “How are you feeling? What are you thinking? You seem a little… off…”

  
“It’s just the weight-gain,” Martin explained, rubbing a hand over his face, “It’s also the fact that my jeans are less baggy than they were before this whole… thing started and that’s making me feel a bit on edge and uncomfortable. Also, I miss flying so much, I need to get out of here soon.”

  
“Back-peddling slightly; what are you thinking and feeling exactly about putting on a few inches around your waist?”

  
“I don’t know how to explain it…”

  
“That’s ok, take your time and think.”

  
“I feel… unsettled. Like everyone is staring at me and whispering jokes about how I look behind my back… Like their laughing about how fat I am; which I know sounds insane, because I’m not fat. I’ve been told that but when I look at myself, all I see is… is…” Martin raised a hand to his head. Tears were pricking the backs of his eyes.

  
“It’s alright Martin. I know what you mean… Well, I don’t know what you mean; but I think I understand what you’re trying to say and I’ll tell you this, Captain; you are beautiful… You aren’t ‘fat’ either. You’re a very handsome man who is recovering remarkably from something that was out of his control. You. Are. Strong.” Douglas dropped his voice to a whisper that seemed to encircle Martin, giving him warmth and comfort.

  
“You think I’m beautiful?” Martin asked in a sweet whisper, bejewelled eyes sparkling with blue diamonds, emeralds and topaz.

  
“Well, I… ahem… I…”

  
“Douglas,” Martin soothed, taking a step towards his fist officer, “I-I don’t think I’m beautiful. I n-never have. B-but I have always thought that you were b-beautiful. Th-that you were handsome. So… I-I guess what I’m asking is… Will y-you be my Sky-God?”

  
“Of course, Martin; if you’ll be the captain of my heart,” Douglas smiled smoothly.

  
“Y-yes…”

  
Douglas smoothly guided Martin’s lips to his own in a soft brush of calloused finger tips against freckled jaw-line. As pink skin brushed, the kiss became hungrier and more passionate; Martin blushed slightly as he leaned into Douglas’ touch in his hair.

  
When they broke apart, Douglas noticed that tears were falling down Martin’s cheek. “Oh captain, my captain…” Douglas sighed as he wiped a tear from Martin’s cheekbone and drew him in for an embrace. “Out of curiosity, how did you know exactly the right thing to say? Isn’t that my area?”

  
“What I’m about to say doesn’t leave this room and is not mocked…”

  
“I promise.”

  
“I used to practise it in front of the mirror…” Douglas chuckled a little in response. “S-so… you r-really…?”

  
“Of course I love you Martin,” Douglas smiled fondly, taking the words from Martin’s perfectly formed lips.

  
“I… I love you too…”

  
“I want you to move in with me."

  
“Bit soon, isn’t it?”

  
That response made Douglas chuckle. “I’ve actually been meaning to ask for a few weeks now. I have a perfectly good spare room and you could stay in there if you were having trouble with your SAD; and also, you won’t be constantly worried about rent and bills. Your health will be better for it as I will be making sure you eat your meals.”

  
“Can I think about it…? I-it’s not that I-I don’t w-want to… b-but I… I…”

  
“Martin, you’re allowed to think things over. Let’s go down to lunch.”

  
“Ok.”

  
Douglas clasped his hand around Martin’s hand (completely without permission; but also without objection) as they walked out of the room, down the corridor, to the canteen.

  
…

  
“You two finally decided to join us, th–” Carolyn found herself unable to speak when she saw the pilots’ fingers intertwined.

  
“Lost for words Carolyn? How delightful; we finally have a way to make her quiet, Martin,” Douglas drawled.

  
“Brilliant!” Arthur beamed, his faith in the world somewhat restored.

  
“Well, that helped the Arthur situation as well; I’m surprised of the uses of something as simple as holding hands with my heart’s captain,” Douglas’ expression was awkwardly caught between a smirk and a warm, somewhat soppy, smile.

  
“Why, you old romantic,” Martin smiled, deciding to concentrate on his new nickname. Douglas leaned down slightly to kiss the hot, flushed skin of Martin’s cheek.

  
“Well… at least I won’t have to pay for an extra room in our next hotel,” Carolyn stated.

  
Martin laughed as he made his way towards the table with his Sky-God. “I’m choosing your lunch, Martin,” Douglas stated matter-of-factly.

  
“N-no, no. I have c-control.”

  
“Martin, I was going to get you something myself anyway. I know it’s hard, but you only need to gain a little more weight before they release you and you can fly again.”

  
With a sigh, Martin agreed. Leave it to Douglas to know what to say.

  
After a minute or two, the first officer returned with a toasted sandwich and chips – not as bad as Martin thought I’d be.

  
Douglas always noticed that Martin had a particular way of eating. Instead of eating what he fancied randomly, he would eat all of one type, then all of another, and so on in what seemed to be logical because the captain would always stare at his meal for a moment or two. The sandwich was first today, it seemed. The chips were more difficult to get Martin to eat; gentle encouragement seemed to be the best way to get the food into Martin.

  
Martin groaned, “they’re too greasy, Douglas. I can’t do this…”

  
“Of course you can captain. Just a few more and you’ll be finished.”

  
“I… I really d-don’t want to…” Martin let his hands fall into his hands.

  
“It’s alright, Skip. You are really skinny. You can have a few chips,” Arthur smiled.

  
“I-it doesn’t quiet w-work like that Arthur. S-sorry.”

  
“You know what Martin, if I get you a Lucozade, and you drink it all, you can leave the chips,” Douglas offered.

  
“No… No, I have to do this,” Martin refused. As he attempted to place the chip into his mouth, eyes squeezed shut, he gagged and dropped the fork. A frustrated growl left the back of his throat and Douglas couldn’t help thinking how sexy the noise was – but he’d keep that thought to himself.

  
“You can do it, Captain. It’s alright,” Douglas whispered in Martin’s ear.

  
“It’s fine, Martin,” Carolyn, in a rare display of maternal instinct, soothed, “everything is alright…”

  
“Come on skip, chips are brilliant!” Arthur smiled encouragingly.

  
“They are certainly not brilliant…” Martin mumbled. To hell with the fork; he picked a chip up with his fingers – bad idea, bad idea; Martin could feel the grease on his fingertips which made the situation worse. Like a golfer taking practise strokes, Martin brought the chips nearer to his mouth and then moved it away again. After a few practises; he, more-or-less, threw the chip into his mouth and swallowed, keeping chewing to the bare-minimum.

  
“Well done, Martin,” Douglas smiled, “two more to go.”

  
Martin groaned. Come on, two measly chips, he could do this. Deciding to go for speed; he forced the leftovers into his mouth and willed himself not to vomit. He didn’t vomit (luckily) and swallowed quickly; receiving a kiss from Douglas to say ‘job well done’. He smiled frailly.

  
“Can we go back to my room now?” Martin asked in a small voice.

  
“Of course,” Douglas gestured for martin to get up first, which Martin did with a small smiled and a courteous nod.

  
That was, of course, until he felt himself slipping. A gasp escaped his lips and an explosion of pain in his thigh sent tears to his eyes and forced the air from his lungs.

  
“Martin, are you alright?” Douglas was by his side in seconds.

  
Martin struggled for breath, the pain tearing through muscle. “My… Leg…” Martin said through gritted teeth and laboured breath.

  
“Skip, you just fell over…” Arthur frowned.

  
“Brittle… Bones… Side… Effect…” Martin struggled.

  
“Carolyn, please fetch a nurse. Arthur, Martin’s bones are brittle due to a, very rare I might add, side effect of his medication. I think he might have broken his leg.” Douglas shifted to cradle Martin’s head in his lap as the pain bit at him. He carded a hand through Martin’s hair as he waited for the nurse.


	7. Drawings of aeroplanes

   “It hurts, Douglas! It hurts!” Martin exclaimed through gritted teeth as the nurse cut his jeans off. His _only_ jeans.

   “It’s a worse brake than I thought…” Douglas remarked, taking Martin’s hands away from where they were tugging at his ginger curls, “But pulling your hair out isn’t going to make it better.”

   “D-Douglas, look at it! My leg!” Martin sobbed from the pain. Douglas stared at the two splintered halves of Martin’s femur protruding from bloodied tissue.

   “It’ll be fine, Martin. They’ll take you into surgery; pin the two halves together and stitch it back up again; and give you a cast, which I promise to decorate with drawings of aeroplanes if you wish, and by the time it heals you should have gained enough weight to be released. It will work out perfectly.”

   “Trust you to have a side effect like this Martin…” Carolyn joked, which did nothing to help the situation.

   “Ah! God… Just m-my luck!”

   “Breathe, Martin; it’s alright, you’re going to be fine,” Douglas reassured.

   “B-but… but my leg…”

   “It will heal perfectly fine, Martin. Trust me; I’m an ex-medical student.”

   “G-Guess I have too, Dr Richardson,” Martin tried to smile flirtatiously, but the pain was too much.

   “Captain Crieff, gotten yourself into a bit of trouble I see; not to worry. Off to surgery we go,” Nurse Smith, along with some other nurses, helped Martin onto the stretcher and whisked him away to the surgical theatre.

…

   The wait was long. Arthur curled up on an uncomfortable seat with a reasonably ok hot chocolate, even if it was a bit gritty; Carolyn was trying to read a magazine, looking like she wasn’t worried, but it would have been more convincing if she wasn’t holding it upside-down; and Douglas was just fiddling, which he never did. He was picking at the peeling plastic on the chair, a loose thread on his trousers, twiddling his thumbs, just trying to burn off the nervous energy that assaulted him.

   It was a tedious few hours before the nurse came and told them that Martin had come to from the surgery and the bones should heal fine. “Thank God,” Douglas groaned.

   “You can see him, if you like; but he’s still asleep,” the nurse offered.

   Douglas nodded. “Please…”

   The nurse led him to Martin’s room where his gaze fell upon the captain. Martin looked almost peaceful – despite having his leg in a cast. He looked younger like this; the worry lines smoothed and he was relaxed.

   ‘No time like the present…’ Douglas thought as he produced a permanent marker from his jacket pocket and started to draw on the light blue cast. The aeroplanes were all the different types he could draw; Spitfires, seaplanes, stunt-planes and, of course, dear old GERTI.

   Douglas engrossed himself in his drawing for the best part of two hours and was fairly pleased with the result.

   He realised he was hungry; but decided to wait until Martin stirred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's been ages, sorry.  
> Please review :)


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